


Everybody Comes to Ric's

by Avia_Isadora



Series: Elleth Lavellan [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Elvhenan Culture and Customs, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Forgiveness, Halamshiral (Dragon Age), Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avia_Isadora/pseuds/Avia_Isadora
Summary: Inquisitor Elleth Lavellan's party is on its way to Emprise du Lion a few weeks after Thom Rainier's return to the Inquisition.  That means a stopover in Halamshiral on the way -- the lower city, not the Winter Palace.  And a stopover in Halamshiral means Ric's, the best bar in the world.  Unfortunately, Elleth isn't the only one with a backstory at Ric's.  What's a night on the town like with Thom Rainier rather than Warden Blackwall?  And will a night in a bar with Dorian and The Iron Bull end in blood or tears?
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Lavellan
Series: Elleth Lavellan [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566448
Kudos: 7





	Everybody Comes to Ric's

“Good old Ric’s.” The Iron Bull stretched his massive arms and grinned. “This is gonna be good.”

“So there’s a bar,” Dorian said. “We’ve been in lots of bars.” They made their way down the paved street of the lower city of Halamshiral, dodging around piles of night soil and the occasional refuse. There were no spoiled vegetables. Any edible thrown in the street in the lower city would be grabbed up immediately. Three quarters of the city was essentially an alienage, though Empress Celene had burned part of it a year and a half ago putting down a revolution which had returned the city to elvhen control. For a day and a half. Nobody knew exactly how many lives had been lost. There were still burned out houses that hadn’t been rebuilt. Elleth could see the lack, like missing teeth in a mouth.

“There’s never a bar like Ric’s,” Blackwall said. “I hear he paid off the Carta and they protected his place during the fire. His place, and the buildings around it.”

“Ric’s a good guy,” Elleth said. She looked at him, one eyebrow rising. “And don’t tell me you’ve been to Ric’s?”

“Quite a few times, some years ago.” His answer wasn’t exactly evasive, even if it wasn’t entirely clear. It was going to take time for him to get out of the habit, she supposed. He’d promised her no more lies, but it was this kind of vagueness and misdirection that made her wonder what traps she hadn’t seen yet.

“I was here with the Chargers a couple of years ago,” the Iron Bull said reminiscently. “Hell of a good party. Course we all got thrown out, but it was great while it lasted.”

“I fail to see how being thrown out of a bar constitutes a good time,” Dorian said. “I prefer to stay in the bar. And drink. Which is what you do at a bar.”

“It’s one of the things you do at Ric’s,” Blackwall said, giving her a sideways glance.

“There’s music,” she said. “And gambling.”

“And other pursuits.” She’d swear he was smirking. Oh it was going to be like that, was it?

“We are going to have a pleasant evening,” Elleth said, stepping over a frozen puddle of who knows what. “As long as we’re passing through on our way to Emprise du Lion, we might as well have a good meal and a night in an inn rather than sleep rough. We’ll have enough of that this week.”

“In the dead of winter,” Dorian pointed out. “So I’m in complete agreement. A good inn and a tavern rather than more camping.”

“I realize Emprise du Lion in the dead of winter is nobody’s idea of fun,” Elleth said. “But we not only have reports of fade rifts, but that slaves are being used for red lyrium mining.”

“And that means us.” The Iron Bull cracked his knuckles. “The A Team.”

In actually, if there had been such a thing as “the A Team” it had been Elleth, Blackwall, Dorian and Cassandra, but since Cassandra wasn’t speaking to Blackwall at present “the A Team” wasn’t functioning for shit. The last and only time since his return that they’d fought together she and Dorian had been left entirely unprotected and nearly flattened by a bear while Cassandra and Blackwall failed to cooperate effectively. This had resulted in Dorian getting mauled, Elleth being bitten, Blackwall being stony, and Cassandra shouting at him. It was clearly unworkable. And so, reluctantly, Cassandra was helping Cullen with recruits at Skyhold and the Iron Bull was on his way to Emprise du Lion in the deep snow.

It might have been more to the point to leave Blackwall and take Cassandra, except that on a gut level Elleth was afraid to let him out of her sight. That was possibly unfair and probably needy and pathetic, but there it was. She’d just gotten him back a month ago. She wasn’t going in the field without him, and for that matter he’d sworn to protect her with his life and serve the Inquisition, so it made sense to see if he’d do it or dash off the moment he could disappear into the underworld of Halamshiral. If he did, so be it. If not, she’d know she could trust him that far.

“Where are we staying?” the Iron Bull asked.

“I thought that guest house across the street from Ric’s,” Elleth said. “What was its name?”

“The Lantern,” Blackwall supplied. “You’ll like it, Dorian. They have baths.”

“How extremely civilized.”

“You really have been around here before,” she said, glancing sideways at her lying lover.

“I told you I had.”

The Lantern was much the same as the last time she’d seen it, nearly ten years ago now, the same aging elvhen woman as the doorkeeper. “Two rooms, if you please,” Elleth said. “On the back side if you have them.”

“I do,” she replied, looking the guests over. One middle-aged Dalish elf with vallaslin and bow, one nondescript fighting man in a very nice fawn colored coat, one handsome mage with a dark blue velvet cloak over his leathers, and one very large Qunari with an axe and striped bloomers. They were certainly unforgettable. “On the back. 4 silver per night.”

“Just one night,” Elleth said, and opened her purse.

“Two rooms,” Dorian said to the Iron Bull. “You don’t mind sharing with the Vint?”

“I figured I’d share with Blackwall,” Bull said. “And you’d get the lady.”

“I think that’s doubtful,” Dorian replied.

“It is doubtful,” Elleth said in her most quelling tones. “And we are being quiet and not attracting any more attention than necessary. Do you know why this is?”

Dorian and the Iron Bull both looked at her like schoolboys.

“It is because I do not want to have to pay a call at the Winter Palace and make nice to Count Pierre, whom I detest. I do not want to have to spend tomorrow in a dance of masks instead of getting on the road. So we are just ordinary travelers passing through who do not call attention to themselves.”

“Incognito,” Dorian supplied. “Intriguing.”

“We are going to relax and have a pleasant evening and act like normal people,” she said. “Got it?”

“Yeah, Boss,” Bull said. “Like I said, this is gonna be good.”

Since there was precisely one person in Thedas with a glowing green mark on her left hand, Elleth opted for fingerless gloves in soft brown leather that left her fingers free while covering the mark on her palm. That, and ordinary leathers with a light blue scarf, minus the showy armor, constituted incognito for her. Point of fact, as she looked in the small mirror in their room at the Lantern, the leathers were quite worn. She looked like a slightly down on her luck mercenary, her pale hair falling not quite to her collar and her vallaslin faded. Well, good enough. Nobody was going to recognize her as the Inquisitor who had set the Winter Palace on its ear last spring, and if they recognized her from the old days, so be it. There were some people she wouldn’t mind seeing.

Dorian put a locking charm on their doors before they went down. Inquistor’s party or not, they’d left some valuable weapons and armor in their rooms. Dorian looked splendid, Blackwall better dressed than usual, and the Iron Bull the same as always. She followed him down the stairs while he told Dorian a story about someone’s tits, presumably somehow related to Ric’s.

Opening the door was like going back in time. The bronze hanging oil lamps hadn’t changed, illuminating the tables in the middle of the room and leaving the booths around the perimeter in shadow. The bar took up the far end, stairs curving up one way to the rooms upstairs, while the doors on either end of it led to the gambling rooms behind. The bard’s platform was in the exact center, well lit by the lamps. There were two large dwarves at the door, clearly on the lookout for trouble. 

Smoke rose from two incense burners and the light of the lamps flickered though their ornamented screens. The floor had clearly been swept clean earlier, and four elves and a human carried trays to serve the tables. It was busy but not crowded yet.

“Now this is more like it,” Blackwall said.

The Iron Bull and Dorian steered straight for the bar, cutting a swath both literally and figuratively through the crowd. 

“I don’t have the energy for that,” Elleth said. “They’re going to raise the dead.”

“How about over here then?” Blackwall asked. He steered her around the tables to a back semi-circular booth, a broad striped couch around a round table that had no hanging light at all. To prevent being recognized? For her sake or his? And still it was nice to have his hand at her elbow, like the sort of woman who came into Ric’s with someone doing for her. 

“Perfect,” she said, and he handed her into the booth and then went around and sat on her right side. And that was instinct, she thought. Keep the lady to your left so you have a clean draw. Well, it might be a sensible precaution at that.

The young elf who came to take their order seemed entirely disinterested in who they were or what their business might be and disappeared to return quickly with two pottery mugs of hot mulled wine, a stick of cinnamon in each as a stirrer. “Oh very nice,” Elleth said, taking a small sip. 

“Ric does a good punch,” Blackwall said. He was leaning back against the cushion, a different sort of posture from his usual serious one. 

She tucked her feet up under her, leaning back too. Somehow his arm seemed to be along the back of the booth, right where it would be nice to lean on. The Inquisitor might have to sit up steel straight on the edge of seats that were too high for her, but Elleth could get comfortable. She cupped her hands around her mug. 

The bard was playing something. It could have been anything beneath the din of voices. It wasn’t Farian. Well, he wouldn’t be here after all these years, would he? Just as well. There was no need for a scene.

“The last time I was here, I got thrown out,” she said.

He smiled. “Me too, actually.”

“Bar fight?” she guessed.

“In a manner of speaking.” He lifted his mug with his free hand. “It was about six years ago, when I was beating a hasty retreat from Orlais. I came through Halamshiral. I ran into – well, into one of my former officers. He had a bit to say about how I’d ruined his life and took a swing at me.” He took a sip. “So I let him get two or three punches in before Ric threw us both out.” He shrugged. “Ric’s probably forgotten all about it. And I didn’t have the beard then.” He looked at her sideways. “What did you get thrown out for?”

“Fighting.” Elleth took a deep breath. The place really hadn’t changed a bit. “I was here a lot, twenty years ago. I was a regular. I lived in Halamshiral almost three years. Last time I was here, I had a screaming fight with my ex. I don’t remember who threw the first punch. But Farian worked here, so I got thrown out.” 

“The lady does have a sharp hand,” he observed. He took her left hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “But some like that.”

Her breath caught. 

He gave her a smile over it, lips lingering just a second. “You never know who you might meet in Ric’s. Might be a beautiful woman with a deadly hand.”

“Might it be?” Elleth couldn’t help but smile back. “I thought one might meet some wicked man.”

“You might indeed.” There was the lowering of his chin but not his eyes, and oh he did indeed have beautiful eyes when he turned on the charm. “But what’s a wicked man without a wicked lady?”

She laughed, leaning a little closer. “Would you believe twenty years ago I danced on the tables once completely barechested?”

“Ah, now that’s a sight I’m sorry I missed!”

“Making you and Ric the two men in this place who’ve seen my breasts,” she said.

“Well, if you feel like repeating it….”

“Trying to be inconspicuous?”

“That would not be inconspicuous. No one could forget you.”

Those eyes again. That expression as he lifted her hand again. “Is this what a night out with Thom Rainier is like?”

His brows tightened for a moment. “Maybe. Somewhat.”

“You were a silver-tongued charmer.” She smiled into his eyes.

“I didn’t know you liked this dance.”

“I prefer being courted to being commanded,” Elleth said. “And yes, l like the dance. If we’d met twenty years ago, I would probably have gone home with you.”

“And I wouldn’t have had the sense to know what I had, beyond a good time.” His arm tightened just a little, possessively.

“Well, you probably would have woken up short your valuables and armor,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much dexterity it takes to sneak out without waking someone while carrying plate mail?”

Thom laughed. “I lost a fine set of tourney armor that way once. I couldn’t afford to replace it.”

“I expect it paid some young lady’s rent for two months.” Elleth took a sip of her wine. “My hat is off to her skill if she could carry a whole set of tourney armor quietly!”

“You’d have robbed me blind,” he said, but there was no heat in it.

She leaned closer. “And you’d have ridden me senseless.”

“That I would, my lady.” He lifted her hand to his lips again.

A young elf, bright and fair, was passing by and turned to sneer in elvhen, “So old the only one you can find to keep you is a hairy shem?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Elleth said in the same tongue.

The young man disappeared into the crowd. Blackwall or Thom or whoever he was said nothing.

“Just a shitter,” she said.

“I don’t think I need a translation. I can guess.”

She shrugged. “That sort of thing doesn’t bother me.”

“Well, since you put the Emperor of Orlais on his throne….” He gave her a rueful glance. He’d dropped her hand with his right, and now casually moved it back from his hilt to lift his mug. 

“It’s not worth starting a fight.” Defiantly, she curled closer against his side, every bit the hungry wanton. “You know there’s different words in elvhen, don’t you? A whore is someone who does what she has to do, and that’s sad and understood. A wanton is someone who does it for fun.”

“And that’s letting everyone down.” His eyes were serious. “It costs you, having me.”

“I don’t believe any of it,” Elleth said. “I love my people and I want us to rise, but I don’t hate humans. I never have.” She heard the intensity in her voice, pulled back and took a sip of her wine instead. “Besides, I like hairy shem. They’re tasty.”

He laughed as she bit her lower lip, reaching for her hand again. “You are the greatest lady I have ever known.”

“You can tell me that another dozen times.” 

“It would be my pleasure,” he said in his most courtly tone.

“Elleth Lavellan.” Ric’s voice was warm and not too loud. “It’s good to see you again. I hear you’ve come into some…good fortune.”

She turned around in the seat to face him. Ric was standing by the table, an impeccably groomed dwarf in middle age in a spotless white high collared coat. “Hello, Ric. You could call it good fortune.”

“Good fortune for Thedas.” He spread his hands. “Battling demons, fighting dragons, getting a more…favorable…situation for Halamshiral. Good fortune for us.”

“I hope the situation is more favorable for Halamshiral,” she said quietly. “Briala will try. And that is at least an improvement.”

“Over burning half the city? Killing several thousand elves and others of the lower city?” Ric shook his head. “It’s an improvement. I expect you miss a few familiar faces in here.”

“A few….” She wasn’t sure whether to ask. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

“Farian’s dead,” Ric said.

She closed her eyes. “I wondered.”

“Yeah. Trude’s still here. And it could have been worse.”

“Farian never picked up a weapon in his life.”

“No shit.” 

She opened her eyes. 

Ric shrugged. “But did the Empress care who did what? The word on the street is that the Inquisitor avenged them. That the Inquisitor watched the Empress die like she watched us die, and that if she’d done it with her own hand it would have been justice.”

“I didn’t kill Celene,” Elleth said. At her side Thom shifted. “But I didn’t prevent it.”

“Is that the official word?”

“Yes.” Her voice was cool. “When people ask you, tell them that. I didn’t kill her. But I let her die.”

“For Halamshiral?”

“For whomever they like.” She took a deep breath. “Ric, let me introduce you to my friend. This is Warden Blackwall.”

He jumped as though suddenly not certain, and then his face set into serious lines. “Good to meet you, Ric.”

“And you.” Ric looked at him a little curiously. But it was probably because he’d never seen anyone making out with a Grey Warden in his place, not because he recognized a wanted criminal.

“We’re incognito,” Elleth said. “We’re passing through and would rather not be recognized.”

“Absolutely,” Ric said. “I’m the soul of discretion. But you might want to tell that to your friends over there.”

Elleth followed his gaze. Dorian and the Iron Bull had amassed a circle of admirers, and Dorian now seemed to be trying to match Bull drink for drink.

“Maker,” Blackwall said. “Dorian, don’t try to keep up with a Qunari.”

“That’s going to end in tears,” Elleth observed.

“Good to see you though,” Ric said, and bowed and made his departure.

Blackwall or Thom shifted as though he were trying to figure out who’s body language he was speaking. “Farian?” he asked quietly.

“My ex.” She was proud that her voice was even. “I hadn’t seen him in a long time. Like I said, last time I was here we had a screaming fight and punched each other.”

“So Dorian’s the only one of us who hasn’t been thrown out of Ric’s?”

“So far,” she said. At the bar, Dorian took a small glass in hand and drained it at one gulp, then looked triumphantly at Bull. “Are they doing shots?”

“Dorian is going to be sorry,” Thom said. “Sick as a dog.”

It was a distraction. And that was fine. She swirled the wine around in the bottom of her cup. “I wouldn’t even play that game. I’m a cheap drunk.”

“As little as you are, I expect so.” He put his arm around her and she leaned back. “I don’t drink much anymore.”

“I know. I’ve never seen you drunk.”

“A pint here and there, a cup of punch with a friend. But I don’t get drunk and tear up the place anymore,” he said.

“I suppose it isn’t Grey Wardeny.”

“I don’t like the man I am when I’m drunk.” 

She leaned against his side. “Mean drunk?”

“Yeah.” He took her hand again, caressing her fingers above the half-gloves absently.

“I’m a slut drunk myself.”

“Well, I should ply you with more mulled wine then.” There was a smile in his voice.

“I’m the life of the party. Which doesn’t go well with being Inquisitor, does it? Taking off my shirt and dancing on the table, making out with Grey Wardens.” She looked up at him. “You know why Sera drives me crazy? Because when I was her age I was exactly like her, only not funny. Not a bit funny. I was hard-bitten and I’d get what I wanted from you. Steel claws that rend your heart. That’s what Farian said about me. He wrote My Lady Dragon for me, did you know that?” He never picked up a weapon in his life. Didn’t know how.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “But I remember the song. It does sound like you. I liked it.”

“You like claws in your heart?”

“My lady, your claws are in my heart,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips again, and her heart gave a little lurch.

“I do like the dance,” she said. “Beautiful and fun and insincere.”

He looked at her sideways. “Why do you think I’m insincere?” 

There was a long moment of silence.

“Because I lied to you about practically everything?”

“That would be the reason.” She drained her cup except for the dregs. “But if they play My Lady Dragon, we’re leaving. That, or the Ballad of Thom Rainier.”

“Please.”

There was an explosion of laughter from the bar, followed by a deadly silence. Dorian stood up. “Would you care to repeat that?” he enunciated carefully.

One of the men at the table said, “I asked how much you were and if I should pay your Qunari pimp.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Dorian said calmly, spinning his staff around in one moment, fire spewing from the end of it to race along the bar from glass to mug, a spilled bottle falling onto the floor in a spray of glass and flame. 

The Iron Bull stood up. “You don’t talk to my friend that way.”

Someone was unwise enough to ask, “You and whose army?”

“I am the army,” Bull said, and piled in.

“Oh shit,” Thom said as the man threw a punch that caught Dorian full in the stomach. He went around the table, his hand at his hilt.

Dorian rose up like a wounded bear, and the staff spat again, the nearest tablecloth leaping into fire as patrons scattered back from it. Three men attempted to punch the Iron Bull. One of them pulled a long knife.

Someone screamed. Another table went over, and a woman in leathers caught the end of Dorian’s staff to wrench it from him.

“No swords!” Ric shouted. 

Thom had already drawn.

Three city guards who had been sitting at a back table got up, wading into what was rapidly becoming a general melee. “You there! You’re under arrest!”

Elleth stood up. This was going to turn into a riot. She ripped the glove off her left hand, flaring the mark in a bright green trace of fire as she stepped out into the middle of the room. “Stop in the name of the Inquisition! In the name of Blessed Andraste and the Inquisition in Thedas, everyone stop and lay down your weapons!”

It was not inconspicuous.

It was nearly two hours before the mess was sorted out. The city guard refrained from arresting anyone, including the elves who had happened to be in Ric’s but not in the fight, and had expressed that Count Pierre would no doubt be disconsolate that she had not called upon him. Elleth had explained that she of course would place herself at the Count’s disposal the next day, but that she could not remain long in Halamshiral due to pressing business. The fire had been doused. The quarrelsome customers had all been expelled, including Dorian and the Iron Bull. She was unclear on whether Thom had also been expelled or had decided to walk Dorian and Bull out in hopes of averting either smart remarks to the guard or another fight.

It was after midnight when she finally excused herself to all and sundry and made her way across the street to the Lantern and upstairs. She knocked on the door. “It’s me.”

Blackwall drew the bolt and opened the door. “I was getting ready to look for you.”

“It just took forever.” She threw her gloves down on top of her pack. “Where are the boys?”

“Sent to bed with a stern warning that if either of them set foot out of that room before tomorrow morning that the Inquisitor would whup them,” he said. “Frankly, I think Dorian’s feeling sick and Bull is hungover.”

“Are they children?” Elleth demanded. “Are we their parents? What in the world is wrong with them? Two random elves nearly got arrested, Ric’s was on fire, and now I have to deal with Count Pierre tomorrow! Is this how the Inquisition behaves?”

“You know how it goes,” he began.

“Don’t you make excuses for them! They know better. What did I say about being inconspicuous? About behaving like normal people?”

“We weren’t exactly behaving….”

“We weren’t starting a grand melee!” Elleth paced across the bedchamber. “The things they do have consequences. Tearing up Halamshiral isn’t good for the Inquisition.”

“They feel bad enough,” Blackwall said. “Come on, Elleth. The hangover is going to be punishment enough without you yelling at them.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Let it be.”

She took a deep breath. “I suppose.”

“And weren’t we having fun until….”

“Until they started a bar fight?” She pushed her hair back from her face. “Well, I suppose now Dorian’s been thrown out of Ric’s too.”

“It’s an Inquisition tradition,” he said.

She shook her head, but took off her jacket and doused the lamp. He bolted the door again and they undressed in the dark, the faint light through the shutters making stripes across the wall and bed. “I was enjoying the part where you told me that I was peerless and that my eyes glowed like the stars, or whatever.”

“Eyes don’t glow like stars,” he said, settling down on the left side of the bed and pulling up the covers. “That’s creepy.”

She flared the mark again, just a little. “It’s not my eyes that glow. It’s my hand. Never need a candle to go to the privy!”

He chuckled, and she came around and settled in beside him, her head against his left shoulder. “If there’s a fade rift in the privy, scream and I’ll come help,” he said.

“If I find a rage demon in the privy, I promise I will,” Elleth said. She pulled the quilt up over them both.

“Most men, it’s spiders. Come kill the spider with a shoe. I get demons.”

“If it’s spiders, it’s big ones.” She curled against his shoulder, letting the mark fade against his chest. “For a few minutes there we were having a normal life.”

“Strange, isn’t it?”

She wet her lips, considering how to say it. “The man you were tonight. I quite like that man.”

“Ah, but that’s not Thom Rainier.” He stroked her hair absently. “Thom Rainier would have piled into the fight like Bull did, not tried to break it up. And he would have just wanted to get in your pants.”

“I don’t mind you wanting to get in my pants,” she said. “But I do appreciate the sense of responsibility.”

“And the not being a murderous criminal at present.”

“That part too. But I don’t think I would have ever been afraid of you.”

“Probably not.” His hand was gentle on her hair. “I only hurt the innocent and weak.”

She turned her head, pressing her lips to his shoulder. It was probably true. Or at least not completely untrue. Though the last time she’d noticed the Orlesian Army fought considerably less than helpless foes most of the time. Certainly during the Blight that had been the case. “Then who were you tonight? Not Warden Blackwall.”

“I don’t know.” His voice was thoughtful. “Maybe if Thom Rainier hadn’t … If he’d been different. If I’d made different choices….”

“I liked him. I liked you.” She searched for the right words. “We fitted. In another life I could have broken that man’s heart.”

“I expect you could have,” he said, and folded her tight against him. “Better than me breaking yours.” 

“My heart will heal,” Elleth said, and for the first time she was sure it was true.

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody Comes to Rick's was the original name of the movie Casablanca. Ric is definitely a tribute to Rick and Halamshiral to that other city on the edge of a powder keg, Casablanca.


End file.
